


Rewind

by moonside



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blowjobs, First Time Sex, M/M, Promptis - Freeform, Vignette, fix it au of sorts, this is how i deal with canon, top!prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonside/pseuds/moonside
Summary: “He’s going to be king,” Prompto says, just as fast, because he’s known this, and he has to say it to someone.“Yes,” Ignis agrees, “and it’s going to be the hardest thing he’ll ever have to do. He’ll need you.”---Prompto stays by Noct's side over the years, even though maybe he shouldn't.





	Rewind

The gods are a bunch of sick bastards, with a cruel sense of humour.

 

Prompto learns that when he’s young. The two are at Noct’s apartment, playing a new video game they’ve been waiting on for months. It’s a single-player RPG, and so they’re trading the controller back and forth, the one not playing hanging over the other’s shoulder and being a backseat gamer. Realistically, they should probably just be on voice chat or something from their respective homes. Or, Noct is quick to point out, he has another TV in the bedroom, so Prompto could’ve lugged his console over.

 

Prompto’s kinda broke and doesn’t have the money for the game, anyway, but he doesn’t point that out, cuz then Noctis will buy it for him. And besides, he likes _this,_ being pressed up close to Noct, head resting on his shoulder, whining about the decisions Noct’s making the protagonist make, because they’ve both decided to date different girls and so naturally they’re trying to sabotage each other.

 

A little while in, Noct’s phone buzzes. He glances down, and doesn’t answer the call.

 

“Gonna take that?” Prompto asks, even though he knows Noct makes a point of ignoring almost every phone call he gets.

 

“Naw,” Noctis replies, and Prompto rolls his eyes, thinks that maybe he should _try_ to lecture some sense into the crown prince, but realistically, he’s invested in this game. More than that, he’s invested in the feeling of Noct’s body pressed far too close to his. If he tips his head, he could press kisses over his best friend’s throat. He’s got an arm curled loosely around Noctis. It’s way too intimate a position for best friends, but… they just _are._ They’re like this. It’s good.

 

Noct’s phone rings again though. And then a third time.

 

“Do they _ever_ let up?” Noctis whines, finally, and he passes the controller over to Prompto and heaves himself off the couch as he lifts the phone to his ear. “ _What?_ Yeah I heard – no – shit, what happ--? Fuck, okay, yeah. _”_

 

Prompto’s trying his best to focus on the tv, not to listen in, but… well, it’s kinda impossible not to, because Noct’s right there, and Prompto is well aware that his best friend is crumbling before his very eyes. Noct’s face has gone a shade of grey that he’s never seen before, and there’s a distinct tremble to his fingers, and his eyes are brimming with a rush of emotion.

 

“Can I see him?” Noctis finally gets a word or two in, followed by “… oh. Okay. You’re sure he’s okay though?”

 

A bit more mumbling, and then the phone hangs up.

 

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Noctis says, suddenly. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay.”

 

“Noct, _whoa,_ buddy, what’s wrong, you okay?” Prompto puts the controller down, but Noct’s already retreating to the bedroom. Prompto follows, the game paused, still on the menu screen, and he half expects Noct to have closed the door and locked it, but it’s cracked open. It’s like an invitation, and Prompto doesn’t hesitate, not for a moment.

 

He crawls into bed next to Noctis. Noct’s still fully clothed. He’s got his eyes shut, but Prompto’s not fooled, not at all, not with the way his best friend’s shoulders are heaving with silent emotion.

 

“… Noct?” Prompto says quietly. His best friend doesn’t respond, but he shifts back, just a touch, and Prompto takes that as approval to loop an arm around his best friend’s waist, to press his face into the back of Noct’s neck. The soft curl of hair there tickles his face, and his lips mouth a quiet reassurance, though Prompto thinks it comes out more ‘I love you Noct’ than anything else.

 

“Stay,” is all Noctis says, and Prompto nods, tightening the grip he has around Noct’s waist. He’ll stay. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter, because Noctis needs him, and he’ll _always_ stay. Take all the time you need, he wants to say. I’m always here, he wants to say. Prompto says nothing, but he doesn’t have to.

 

Later, after Noctis really _does_ fall asleep – he always does – Ignis shows up to check on him. Prompto’s still in bed, still an arm curled around his best friend, and maybe his lips are pressed into Noct’s shoulder. Maybe he’s watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his best friend’s chest, or the way his face scrunches up, caught up in a dream, only to smooth out again when Prompto gives his hip a little squeeze.

 

“You’re still here,” Ignis says, quietly, in the door, and Prompto damn near jumps out of the bed.

 

“I… uh… _yeah,”_ he says in a rush, shame tinting his face pink. Whatever he and Noct have – and there’s no actual definition for it, really – Prompto thinks that probably, definitely, the prince’s advisor will see right through him. Noctis shifts and grumbles in response, even though Prompto’s trying to keep his voice low.

 

“Come. Let’s chat,” Ignis says, and Prompto’s heart leaps into his throat, as he carefully untangles from Noct. Said heart breaks a little bit at the way Noctis seems to shift with the absence of his body pressed up close.

 

Prompto’s cheeks are definitely a violent shade of red, and his fingers are playing at the hem of his t-shirt – one he’s stolen from Noct, at that – as he follows Ignis out into the kitchen. Noct’s advisor, honestly, has always terrified him. Ignis is only a couple years older, but he _acts_ like he’s got a good decade on them. He’s always well put together, with neat glasses, a neater hairstyle, all pressed shirts and dress slacks and stern expressions. Right now though, as they get into the light, Prompto sees the lines under Ignis’s eyes, the way his hair is just slightly askew, the worried creases that line his face.

 

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Ignis says, quiet, pulling out a chair for Prompto at the table. Prompto obediently sits, even though he has no idea _where_ this is going, and he’s terrified. “Noct’s father had an accident.”

 

Prompto blinks. An accident. “…the king?! is he… _okay?”_

 

Ignis sighs. A hand runs through his hair, and he sits, too. “I should make some coffee,” he says, “Noct doesn’t tell you much, does he?”

 

“He tells me lots,” Prompto tries to insist, but… well. He drops his expression to the table, fingers drumming nervously against the edge. “… not about, y’know, the king stuff, though. He doesn’t talk about that.”

 

Ignis makes a quiet sound. “He never has. Perhaps it’s not my place to tell you, but… he shuts people out, when these things happen. Someone needs to be _there,_ and he doesn’t allow me anymore. He needs _you,_ I’m afraid.”

 

Prompto flushes all over again with those words, for a whole number of reasons.

 

“I don’t think Noct needs me,” he says, stupidly, dumbly, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s voicing a world of concerns to someone who is damn near a complete stranger to him. But… well, Ignis loves Noct. And Prompto, he loves Noct too. Maybe in different ways, maybe in ways that are _way_ too complicated, too impossible for the situation, but… well, Prompto’s been holding it in, and he’s about ready to burst.

 

“I’m not blind,” Ignis says, with a little smile that should be terrifying, but it somehow puts Prompto a touch more at ease. “I see how you two look at each other.”

 

“He’s going to be king,” Prompto says, just as fast, because he’s known this, and he has to say it to _someone._

 

“Yes,” Ignis agrees, “and it’s going to be the hardest thing he’ll ever have to do. He’ll need you.”

 

Prompto doesn’t know. He isn’t so sure. He bites at his lip, until it’s battered and there’s the faintest, beginning traces of copper washing over him.

 

“I’ll brew some coffee,” Ignis says, quietly, standing up. “How do you take it?”

 

“Lots of cream and sugar,” Prompto admits, and the long, _weary_ glance Ignis gives him, over coffee of all things, makes Prompto smile, a small bubble of laughter escaping.

 

He ends up talking with Ignis for hours. Ignis tells him that Noct’s dad, the King of fucking Lucis, was simply injured in a recent trip outside the city. A broken hip, and he’s undergoing surgery, and Noctis, when this happens, he shuts down. It’s happened before, after all. It’ll happen again. The magic that protects Insomnia, that strange, glowing barrier that keeps the world at bay, it has a heavy price. That ring the king wears, it’s draining away at his life.

 

“And then it’ll be Noct’s turn,” Prompto says quietly, dully, after what seems like hours. He’s nursing the bottom remnants of his coffee, mostly cream and sugar, gone all cold.

 

“He needs you,” Ignis says, quietly, in response, head tipping to the side, regarding Prompto with an expression that seems more… _human_ than anything else. Prompto’s always seen Ignis as this stern figure of perfection Right now, he’s seeing through all that, seeing simply a person, a friend, someone who loves Noctis as well. It’s maybe the first time that Prompto realizes he’s actually, somehow, managed to carve a little spot of his own into Noct’s life.

 

And, hell, it’s the first time that Prompto realizes just what they’re up against. He’s going to watch his best friend grow old before his very eyes, and there’s nothing he can do to stop that.

 

\---

 

 _“Prom,”_ Noct is saying, in that gorgeous, needy voice of his.

 

It’s some time later. Damn near a full year, honestly.

 

Prompto’s started training with Noctis. Maybe he’s just desperate to stay close, to be that person that Ignis claims Noct needs in his life. Most likely, Prompto’s just in love, he’ll never deny a thing Noctis asks of him, and Noct had asked one day, in that lazy, spoiled drawl of his ‘I don’t wanna go to training today, _come with me?’_

 

Whatever caused this chain of events, the end is the same. And right now, the end result is the two of them sprawled in Noct’s bed. Prompto’s lips are all over Noct’s, kissing him rough and fast and desperate, and his hands are working, slipping under the t-shirt Noct’s wearing and dragging the fabric up over his belly, to bunch at his armpits.

 

Something in them has snapped. The sexual tension, it’s been getting worse. They started kissing a while ago, and kissing turned into making out, which turned into the occasional wandering hand. And okay, so maybe Prompto’s now more familiar with how Noct’s dick feels in his hand than his own. It’s just a _thing_ they do, never mind that Prompto’s horrendously in love.

 

Training today though, it was bad. Bad enough that Gladio had to separate them, had to say ‘okay, calm down, you lovesick idiots,’ – plural – to the two of them. Prompto’s cheeks had been red, and yeah, okay, when Noctis had gotten him pinned down, maybe he’d stopped struggling. Maybe he’d simply _stared,_ open-mouthed and gaping, at the way Noct’s eyes flash violet when the magic is rushing. The tendons in his arms stand out against slim, defined muscle, when he’s high on the power of Lucis, when it’s all rushing, crackling energy. It’s somehow the _hottest_ thing, and it’s been on Prompto’s mind ever since.

 

So, they’re here. They got home, and it was still all Prompto could think about. And hell, Noctis, the cocky, arrogant, lazy-ass prince that he is, he’d grabbed Prompto by the collar, dragged him in for a kiss, and said “still thinkin’ about me?”

 

That’s all it took to get them like this. Prompto’s still fully clothed. He’s wearing his glasses still, too. Noct’s underneath him on the bed, and Prompto grinds his hips down. His best friend _gasps,_ and he’s just as fucking hard in his pants as Prompto is. They’ve been slowly pushing the limits for a while now, and Prompto thinks they’re barreling headfirst into something else. He’s so fucking willing though.

 

Noctis, too, isn’t complaining, not when Prompto sits back on his heels and tugs his best friend’s shirt over his head. He leans back in, lips closing over one dusky nipple, tongue teasing it into a tight bud – one of Noct’s hands tightening in his hair, tugging him closer – before shifting to the other. Saliva shimmers in wet lines down Noct’s chest as Prompto works his way down. They’d both had a quick shower after their training, but Noctis still tastes vaguely of salt, even as he smells like the fancy soap he uses. It’s so _Noctis,_ so intoxicating, that Prompto has to reach down and cup himself through his pants, giving the base of his cock a rough squeeze to keep him from ending this prematurely.

 

Prompto grins as Noctis shifts and giggles a little under the tongue tracing over his abs. He’s ticklish here, and Prompto finds it _so_ fucking endearing. The quiet laughter turns to a moan though, when his tongue hits the waist of Noct’s pants.

 

“I’m gonna,” is all Prompto says, and Noctis shudders in response.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, as Prompto’s fingers tug at the waist of the loose sweatpants. And, fuck, Noct’s not wearing anything underneath.

 

“Fuck, _Noct,”_ Prompto wants to say something clever, but instead, he’s simply greeted with the view of Noct’s cock, already fully hard, twitching a little as it settles heavily against his belly. He’s touched it, yeah, and a _lot._ Prompto’s memorized the look Noct gets in his eyes when he’s about to come. He knows the right grip to use, the way to jerk him off quick and fast, or the slower, more fluid strokes to use when he wants to draw it out some.

 

Prompto’s mouth is watering though, and he settles down between Noct’s thighs, after drawing his pants fully off. He tips his head up, and when he realizes Noctis is propped up a little, staring up at him, it makes his still-clothed erection ache in response.

 

What the hell. Prompto goes for it, and the first drag of his tongue along the thick underside of Noct’s cock is _perfect._ The taste is entirely Noct, a little bit of salt, a whole lot of desire, and really, it’s the way Noct’s whole body jerks, the way a shuddery moan escapes, that is the hottest thing Prompto’s ever seen. His tongue traces the thick vein that runs underneath, experimentally swirls under the ridged head of Noct’s cock, and it’s all intoxicating. Noct’s hips keep jerking up, like he can’t fucking control it, and maybe he can’t. It makes Prompto hum a quiet, satisfied sound as his tongue laves over the weeping tip of his best friend’s erection, tasting the salty bitter precum already beading there. He _likes_ doing this, and fuck, Noct seems to like it too.

 

One hand steadies on Noct’s hip, holding him down, as Prompto closes his lips around the head of his cock. It’s a damn good thing too. They haven’t done this before, and they’re both inexperienced as all hell, really, even though Prompto’s googled ‘how to give a blow job’ a time or six. Might have watched some porn, too. He’s got the basics down, the way he hollows out his cheeks and applies some suction as he goes down, tongue working thickly over the underside of Noct’s cock. Still, it hasn’t prepared Prompto for the way his jaw _burns_ from the exertion. He should’ve taken his glasses off, too, cuz they’re bumping awkwardly over his nose when he goes down too far, the heat from Noct’s body, from his own heavy breathing, fogging up the lenses. He chokes, too, when the head of Noct’s erection bumps the back of his throat, and for a moment, Prompto thinks he really might choke and sputter.

 

They find a rhythm though. It’s messy and wet, saliva pooling at the corner of Prompto’s lips, dripping down Noct’s shaft and making his balls all sloppy and wet. If Noctis cares, he isn’t voicing it though. Instead, he’s mumbling _“Prom, Prompto, fuck, s’good,”_ over and over, both hands pressed into Prompto’s hair, threaded and holding his head there. Prompto likes the tug, the little sharp jolts of pain, it all going straight to his own cock. He likes the taste of Noctis, bitter, musky salt. He _loves_ the way his mouth feels stretched, too full, the way he can feel Noct’s erection twitching in his mouth, swelling up and jerking.

 

He knows Noct’s gonna come when his words turn incoherent. Prompto moans, low in his throat, and the vibration must feel _really_ good, with the way Noct’s thighs are shaking, with the way his cock twitches wetly and his hips jerk up rough. It catches Prompto off guard, and he coughs, sputters and draws back, _just_ as Noct’s orgasm hits him. Noctis comes, wet and messy, his cock spurting wet streaks that manage to catch Prompto across his cheeks, all over his glasses, some even hanging wet and heavy in the long bangs that hang over his face. It’s somehow the _hottest_ thing Prompto’s ever seen though, and he doesn’t even care that the messy, thick strands are coating him, tacky and wet all over his face.

 

“Fuck, dude, you know how hard these glasses are gonna be to clean?” Prompto teases, as Noctis comes down, but even as he says it, he’s mouthing over the head of Noct’s still-hard cock, tongue dipping into the slit and gathering up the last oozing drops of come. Noct’s hips jerk, and his best friend makes a strangled, needy noise, overstimulated and pliant under his touch.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Prom,” Noctis manages weakly, “fuck, that was good, I love you.”

 

Prompto freezes. They’ve never said it before. And of course, here’s Noctis, making an absolute mess of Prompto’s face, caught in post-orgasmic bliss, saying the words like they’re _nothing,_ like they aren’t in the middle of some casual fucking. It’s somehow everything, and Prompto’s head is spinning. He lifts up, his face messy, streaked with Noct’s release, eyes burning bright behind glasses that are specked with come.

 

“Shouldn’t say things you don’t mean, Noct,” Prompto tries his best to sound casual, as he scoots up a little, to get a better look at Noctis.

 

Noct, though, he props himself up. He reaches to draw Prompto’s ruined glasses off, leaning to place them on the bedside table. His t-shirt is still lying on the bed next to them, and Noct grabs that, too, slow and maybe a little thoughtfully wiping the mess off Prompto’s face. Somehow, the touch is gentle, affectionate, such a contrast from _everything_ they’ve been up to. It’s confusing, has Prompto’s cock throbbing in his pants, has his mind racing, everything is _so_ confusing—

 

“Shouldn’t assume I don’t mean the things I say,” Noctis says, and when Prompto’s face is wiped as clean as it’s gonna get – some stubborn remnants of salty release still clinging to his skin, he’s gonna need a proper shower – he goes in for a kiss, slow, lingering, probably tasting of semen. Noct’s expression is a little sour when he draws away, confirming that, but he smiles anyway.

 

“Love you, Prom,” Noctis says again, repeats the words, and their eyes meet, and Prompto just _knows_ it’s true. Fuck.

 

“Love you too, Noct,” Prompto mumbles out, and somehow, it’s the easiest thing he’s ever said. Noctis smiles again, a genuine one that creeps into his eyes, and then a hand’s slipping between them, rubbing Prompto’s aching erection through his pants, and the world disappears into a mess of need and desire, and now it’s Prompto’s turn to learn _just_ how good it feels to have lips wrapped around him. He’s nice enough to _not_ come all over Noct’s face though.

 

\---

 

Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this.

 

Okay, maybe isn’t the word. Prompto _knows_ they shouldn’t be doing this. Noctis is gonna marry Luna.

 

“We gotta stop,” Noctis says, when he breaks the news to Prompto, “I… I don’t want to, y’know? But I want to be a good king, and she deserves better…”

 

They both simply sit there and cry for a while, and Prompto hates that he doesn’t want to stop. He owes everything to Luna, after all. She’d written him that letter, all those years ago, had been the catalyst for this entire friendship. And she’s a good match, politically, for Noctis, even though everyone knows that Luna and Noctis? They aren’t in love. And fuck, after they both cry about it, shoulders bumping as they sit on Noct’s couch, their hands find each other. Noctis squeezes Prompto’s hand like there’s no tomorrow, like they need that rough, outright painful contact, and if they let go, everything’s going to spiral away.

 

“I don’t want to stop,” Prompto admits, his shoulders shaking with a quiet little sob, after a long time. “I… I can’t ask you to keep doing this, Noct, but… I don’t wanna leave your side.”

 

“I know,” Noctis says quietly, and he sounds so _miserable,_ that Prompto wants to rip his own heart out. Maybe that’s why he does it. It’s a moment of shame, an utter moment of weakness, when later, when Prompto’s back at his own place – because he can’t stay the night at Noct’s, damnit – that he writes to Luna.

 

It’s a long letter, full of ‘hey long time no talk’ and a bunch of stupid bullshit that inevitably turns into _I’m in love with your fiancé, Luna, and I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to do,_ Prompto writes. He shouldn’t send the letter. He really shouldn’t. It’s not Prompto’s place, and it’s so fucked up, and it’s selfish. But Ignis had told him, all that time ago, that he should stay by Noct’s side, that Noctis needs him, and… hell. Prompto’s eyes burn and his throat feels raw when he sends it anyway.

 

He never learns what Luna says in return, but a couple of weeks later, when Noctis sees him, after training, he pulls him into the locker room in the Citadel, and for once, the world is on their side, as Noct grabs his shirt roughly and presses their lips together in a rough, fierce kiss, something that screams _I love you_ and _I need you,_ and _this is everything._

“She doesn’t care,” Noctis says later, after they’ve relearned each other’s bodies, those two weeks apart the worst ones in Prompto’s life, “she said that just because we’ve got to have a political marriage, she cares about our friendship too much to make me miserable…”

 

Prompto feels a thrum of guilt at how _good_ those words sound. Noct’s head fits so nicely on his chest, that he can’t really care too much, that he can’t think about the fact that maybe she’s heartbroken (even though he knows Luna’s not in love with Noct anyway, she can’t be, not the way _Prompto_ is) or that this whole thing is fucked up.

 

“I love you, Noct,” is what Prompto says instead. He didn’t intend to fall in love with a future king, He didn’t intend for any of this. But he’ll stay by his best friend’s side, no matter what.

 

\---

 

They shouldn’t, Prompto tells himself, when he sees Noctis in that bed in Altissia. Noct looks _different._ He looks so worn down, so fucking broken. He’s got the ring around his neck, but he won’t use it, he won’t wield it. Prompto knows the reason why. He knows, because he’d been there in Galdin, with the _news_ of Insomnia fresh and heavy and terrible. He’d been the one to hold Noctis in his arms while he shut down. His best friend hadn’t sobbed then, even though his soul had been screaming. He’d simply gone silent, catatonic, while Prompto held him.

 

The next room over, he could hear Gladio and Ignis in quiet conversation, could swear he heard the crack in Gladio’s voice, because he’d been mourning too. Too much death, too much pain for them all to deal with. And that had been before _everything else._

But Noct’s kissing him here, and Prompto, goddamnit, he’d locked the door when he came in. Nobody will disturb them. Ignis, he _knows,_ and Prompto thinks back to that very fucking first real conversation he’d ever had with Ignis, before he’d properly known him. _“I’m not blind, Prompto.”_

 

Fuck, how had it come to this?

 

“Prom, please,” Noctis is saying, and Prompto knows that they’re coping with this all wrong. He knows that he shouldn’t, even as Noct’s pushing him down onto the bed. Even as Noctis is drawing up onto his knees, head tipping back, fingers slick with saliva and some lotion he’d found in the bathroom – working himself open. They haven’t done this in, well, a while. Noct’s been comatose, and then a mess, and it’s just… it’s _bad._

 

Maybe this is why they need it so badly. Whatever it is, Prompto doesn’t say no, instead he simply grasps onto Noct’s hips, hard enough to bruise, as Noctis lowers himself. They both sigh as Noct takes Prompto’s cock in. The tight heat grips him, and Prompto tosses his head back on the pillow, sighs and groans and rocks his hips up when Noct sinks all the way down, when he’s buried to the hilt.

 

“Fuck, Noct,” Prompto sighs out, and they find their rhythm easily enough. It’s a little rough. Noct’s hands are braced against Prompto’s chest as he lifts himself, and he trembles a bit with the effort. He’s still weak. It has Prompto’s hands gripping harder at Noct’s hips, thumbing over jutting hipbones, guiding their motions as he works deep, slow thrusts, ones that are splitting Noct open, are drawing them into a world where it’s just the sounds of sex and the rush of pleasure through their veins. It’s a world where nothing else exists, where it all _fades away._

 

“Please,” Noctis gasps out, when Prompto’s cock hits that _spot,_ and he clenches and tenses around Prompto’s cock in a way that has him aching inside, already dripping precum. Their eyes meet, and Prompto can’t hold back a quiet moan at how _good_ Noct looks. His head’s tossed back. His hair is disheveled. It’s gotten a bit longer. He’s got a few cuts and bruises on his face, still not entirely healed from Leviathan. There’s deeper scars, too, and that’s apparent, because Prompto can’t held but notice how the ring around Noct’s neck jingles on its chain as they move together.

 

Maybe that’s what inspires Prompto to roll them over, to take over fully. Noctis isn’t complaining though, whimpering out a quiet, needy sound, head falling back against the pillow, arms wrapping around Prompto’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. It’s all heat, and this way, Prompto can ignore the ring, the reminder of _all_ the fucking hardship they’ve been through.

 

The angle, too, it lets Prompto take control, to set a deep pace. One of Noct’s legs curls around his waist, and this way, he can thrust deep, rolls of hips that has him fully seated in tight heat. Noct’s gasping out, and Prompto is too, honestly, face buried in Noct’s shoulder. They cling together, all needy noises and heat, Prompto’s balls slapping against Noct’s ass with every plunge forward.

 

Noct’s cock is trapped between their bellies, and it’s twitching and hard, a heavy, present heat. One of Prompto’s hands slips between them, curls around it and jerks with the strokes that Prompto knows Noct likes. They _know_ each other so well by now. Noct is Prompto’s whole world, and when they’re wrapped up together like this, when he has Noct’s ass taking him in so needy, when he feels his aching erection twitching and leaking precum over his fingertips, it’s so easy to forget that _this,_ ultimately, is going to become something impossible.

 

Noctis whimpers and comes hard over his fingers in a wet rush, and he doesn’t stop gripping Prompto’s cock, doesn’t stop bucking his hips down, riding out his orgasm and the desperately good feeling of friction against his prostate, until Prompto follows. Prompto’s own orgasm crashes over him, and he doesn’t know if he’s whimpering or sobbing or just mourning, as he mouths empty nothings into Noct’s neck, presses salty-wet kisses to his skin, his cock spurting deep inside, coating his lover’s insides.

 

“I’m sorry,” Prompto says, after a while of them simply staying like this. He’s got his head on Noct’s chest, and Noctis has his fingers threaded through Prompto’s hair. The window is open a crack, but the scent of sex is still heavy in the room. It’s keeping some of the bitter memories at bay, but it can’t push them away, not entirely. It’s impossible, of course, to keep it all away. Too much has happened.

 

Noctis makes a quiet sound, and Prompto’s pretty sure it’s a sob. He pretends that he doesn’t know that, though.

 

“I loved her,” Noctis says, quietly, “I wasn’t _in love_ with her, but…”

 

“I know,” Prompto agrees, because he loved Luna too, without even meeting her. She’s the reason they’re like this. She’d said _stay by his side,_ and Prompto had stayed, and he’s here, damnit, he’s here.

 

“And Iggy…” Noctis says, and he can’t say anything more there, because a wet, ugly sob comes out. Prompto doesn’t reply, but he scoots up a little, lips pressing into Noct’s forehead, and then Noctis is clinging, their sex-stained bodies, still damp with cooling sweat, pressing together. That’s all Prompto can do, simply _hold_ Noct, and simply hate what an ugly world they’ve been thrown into.

 

\---

 

“I’m sorry,” this time, Noct’s saying the words, and Prompto, impossibly, believes them.

 

 _That’s not Noct,_ Prompto had told himself, over and over again, _he’s gonna come. He’ll save me._

And Noctis? He came. His shoulders shake, as they sit here, on the stupid little cot, tucked away in a bunker deep in Zegnautus. They gotta go for the crystal, and there’s this burning feeling in the pit of Prompto’s stomach. There’s a feeling that _this_ isn’t going to be so easy. The ring is on Noct’s finger, finally, and Prompto hates it. They both do.

 

The crystal’s always been… well, something of a mystery, but Prompto knows it comes with a price. Noctis does, too, even though his face is etched with determination.

 

“Let’s do this together,” Noctis says quietly. “… I want you with me, Prom. I always have. You with me?”

 

There’s no hesitation, and Prompto smiles, as best as he can, masking the terror, the nervousness, the feeling that permeates the air, the one where they both know everything is probably gonna go wrong.

 

“Ever at your side,” he tells Noct, and their shoulders bump together, their hands groping for each other. Their fingers twine, and Prompto squeezes, so hard that it hurts, and Noct squeezes back. Together, they’ll be okay. Even when it’s not okay.

 

\---

 

The gods are so fucking cruel. They’ve learned it a thousand times over. Prompto’s had to come face-to-face with that more times than he wants to admit. The past years? Every fucking day is a reminder.

 

Six years in, Prompto ventures into Insomnia, on a particularly risky mission. It’s something of a death wish, but well… Prompto? He’s kinda got one. He’s pretty sure he’s the only one who still thinks Noct is coming back. Ignis and Gladio, they… well, the three of them have drifted. It’s not an intentional thing. Ignis usually stays close to Lestallum. Gladio spends most of his time traveling around with his sister, fighting daemons. Prompto hangs out around Hammerhead, and he likes to say it’s because of that silly crush he’s got on Cindy, but there’s definitely a night between them, with too much of her Paw’s old whisky, one where she’d crawled into his lap and said, “we ever gunna do this or what?”

 

It’d ended with Prompto spilling his heart between kisses, because she’s _not_ Noctis, and he can’t pretend she is, and she’d said “oh hun,” and let him cry and nothing had ever come of it. From then, they’ve been best friends though – well, as best as they can be, with the hole in Prompto’s heart – and he appreciates it more than he can ever voice.

  
Either way, he’s _here._ He’s in Insomnia, and nobody else will really come here. Prompto’s an old pro at navigating the underground tunnels, from years of experience as a kid, and he manages to avoid detection until he’s deep in the heart of the city. There’s some old headlights kicking around in here, some battery packs, and a bunch of weapons that they don’t have the resources to make anymore. Nobody else will come in here, but… after six fucking years without Noctis? Prompto’s feeling reckless enough to be the sacrificial lamb.

 

Of course, he didn’t expect Ardyn fucking Izunia to be there, too.

 

“If it isn’t an old friend, _my,_ I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ardyn says, and Prompto spins around. He fires a few bullets, and a part of Ardyn’s face explodes in a messy, visceral swirl of black, before the shadows collect back in. There’s a flash of gold in Ardyn’s eyes, and he’s _whole_ again. There’s hatred churning in Prompto’s belly, his hands almost threatening to tremble, but he’s a trained gunman, and everything is cold.

 

Prompto’s gonna die here, he _knows_ Ardyn is immortal, that really, he can’t fight back. Only Noct can, and Noct… well.

 

“Just shut the fuck up and kill me,” Prompto says, harsh, “I’m sick of this world anyway, y’know?”

 

Ardyn laughs, and tips his head, and it’s obvious he’s simply here to play, because isn’t he always?

 

“And spare you the _joy_ of watching me finish off your beloved Chosen King once and for all? What’s the fun in that?”

 

He lets Prompto go, because of course Ardyn fucking does. He even lets him take the prized possession, the precious lights that fend off daemons and as many supplies as he can get strapped around his back and tucked into his bag. Prompto breathes heavily, once he’s back in Hammerhead. He doesn’t wanna talk, even though Cindy’s offering, instead locking himself back into the little room she’s set up for him here.

 

Ardyn’s fucking with him. But somehow, _saying_ that Noct will be back, that there will be this final showdown… it’s a reminder. Prompto hates that he’s hanging on to the words of the man who tried so hard to get into his mind all those years ago, the man who had tried so hard to _destroy_ him, but fuck, he misses Noctis. All he wants is to have Noct back, to see him, and fuck, even if it’s just to say goodbye, even if Noctis _does_ go down, fighting Ardyn…?

 

Well, Noct won’t go down fighting Ardyn. He’ll win.

 

But Prompto would give anything just for one more fucking night.

 

\---

 

The gods are cruel. Holy shit, _it isn’t even fair,_ it’s a whole new level of cruelty. There’s a good dose of irony, too, because Prompto, for years now, he’s been asking, “just give me one more night?” and fuck, they’ve answered his prayers, haven’t they, _so very precisely._

“So, this is it, huh?” Prompto says quietly. His voice wavers, and he doesn’t trust himself to not have an utter breakdown. Noct’s at his side, and their shoulders are pressed together, just like old times. Noct is… fuck, he’s _different,_ but underneath, he’s all the same. He looks old, and worn down. He came out of that damn crystal far too thin, and whatever the gods have been putting him through over the past ten years… well. Prompto doesn’t ask, and Noct doesn’t offer. He thinks though, that it’s a good thing Iggy’s gotten somehow even _better_ at cooking over the years, cuz it’s very clearly been ten damn long years since Noct’s had a real meal.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, quietly. The lines on his face are etched. Prompto swears, in the dim light filtering through the tent from the lantern they have burning in here, that he can see premature streaks of grey along Noct’s temple. The scruff of beard is tantalizing, has Prompto’s fingers itching to touch. Prompto knows he’s changed, too. He’s got so many new scars, _so_ many damn stories that he could tell, but he doesn’t offer. He’s gotten leaner, put on more muscle, lost the last little bits of baby fat that he’d hated so much before. Prompto wonders if they still fit together. Somehow, he thinks they do.

 

“I’m sorry,” Noctis says, and the words, they… fuck, they rock Prompto to the core.

 

“Don’t,” he says, in a voice that’s thick with emotion, “please. Noct. Just… _don’t.”_

 

It’s the gods. It’s all the fucking gods. The ring is hanging on its chain around Noct’s neck, and he knows that as soon as they get into the city, Noctis is gonna put that ring on, and he’s gonna chase after Ardyn. He’ll win, but… does it fucking matter? Prompto doesn’t know anymore.

 

“So, I got you this thing,” Prompto says in a rush, desperate to change the subject, and it’s stupid. His cheeks still flush, after all these years, as he scoots away a little, searching through his bag, fingers closing, finally, on his prize. He draws it out in a rush, and hands it over, fingers trembling, just a touch. Then, fingers trembling violently when Noctis reaches out, when their hands brush.

 

“It’s dumb, I know,” Prompto adds, quickly, as Noct lifts a hand, examines the stupid little gold chocobo-feather pendant there, “but… I found it in Lestallum, a few years back. Made me… think of you. I _know,_ but I thought maybe you’d want something to wear that isn’t…” he trails off, eyes the ring, and closes his eyes. Fuck.

 

“Prom,” Noct says, voice thick, “it’s… I… _you’re_ perfect.”

 

They shouldn’t, but they’ve never been able to resist each other. Gladio and Ignis are outside, and Prompto wants to think that they’ll overlook this little indiscretion, just this once, because, _well,_ are there any other to overlook, after this?

 

Noct looks good with the pendant hanging around his neck. And even though yeah, under the old clothes, he’s definitely thinner, muscles a little worn over the ten years in the crystal, belly sunken and ribs standing stark against his skin as he stretches out under Prompto, it’s still _Noct._ He’s still ticklish, as Prompto’s tongue traces over his stomach, dipping into his abdomen. He still smells like Noct, still _tastes_ like Noct, as Prompto takes him into his throat, like he always did. And he doesn’t make him come, withdraws before that, but they come together, as Prompto moves over top of him, makes love to Noct slow and passionate and _all love._ It’s been ten fucking years, and there’s no shame when their eyes are both wet, when there’s magic swirling in the tent around them, enveloping them, and the glow in Noct’s eyes is reflected back in Prompto’s.

 

\---

 

They go to Insomnia, the chocobo pendant hanging around Noct’s neck, standing out stark against the fancy clothes that they’ve all waited ten years for him to wear. They’re in their Crownsguard uniforms, and the rain is coming down, in the end, when Noct stands before them on the steps.

 

“I love you,” Prompto says, quietly, and he doesn’t care that Ignis and Gladio are there. “Noct, I…”

 

Noctis looks like he’s going to turn back. He doesn’t though. The daemons come in, and Prompto’s mind turns to mush, and he _swears,_ he feels it when the first blade pierces into Noctis, sitting on that throne inside. He swears, they _all_ feel it, as the daemons descend on them, ripping in and tearing them to pieces, and finally, Prompto thinks, maybe the gods aren’t so cruel after all, because they’re all going down _together._

The sun rises, on an empty city, and then it sets on itself, and time means nothing anymore.

 

\---

 

Sometimes, Prompto gets a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, a fluttering, like things aren’t quite right.

 

He’s always been a little bit shy. His dad tries, really hard, to draw him out of his shell, but… well. It never quite seems to work. With all his awkward energy, with his freckled cheeks that seem to flush at all the right times, all gangly teenage body that’s finally started to catch up with his tripping hormones, Prompto’s just a _mess._ The baby fat from his soft preteen years is coming off, at least, and even though he’s horrendously self-critical as he eyes the red stretch marks in the mirror, at least he can see the lines of his hips now, the dip of pelvis that runs down into the band of his boxers.

 

Still, he wonders if something’s missing in his life. Sure feels like it is.

 

Insomnia is nice this time of year. Prompto doesn’t know if there’s such a thing as _home,_ but the city is really starting to feel like it. His dad took him on a business trip over the past year, and he studied abroad, and coming back…? It’s kinda nice. It’ll be weird, starting high school a year late, but Prompto thinks that maybe it’ll be okay. School starts next week, and the nerves are still fluttering, but he makes the best of it.

 

He’s never had a lot of friends though, and Prompto’s critically reminded of this as he heads into the arcade near his dad’s apartment. He’s alone, and most of the kids are there in clusters, all caught up in their own little world. Prompto? Well, he’s just Prompto, and even though a couple of girls meet his eye and flush and look away, nobody approaches him.

 

He sees the other kid, though, also _alone,_ and Prompto’s heart jumps into his chest, because he realizes _holy shit,_ that’s the Crown Prince of Lucis. They’ve never properly met before, even though his dad works for the Crown, because circumstances, combined with Prompto’s nerves tripping up everything he does, it’s just a recipe for disaster.

 

Prompto quickly ducks his head down, and he makes an effort to be busy with the coin machine, but a little flash of gold catches his eye as the Crown Prince leans over the game he’s playing.

 

It’s a tiny little chocobo feather pendant, hanging out from the neck of the simple t-shirt the prince is wearing. Prompto’s breath catches, and he lifts a hand to his own neck, where he’s wearing an identical one.

 

The pendant, he’d simply _had_ it. He doesn’t know where he got it, and somehow, it’s always been a symbol of good luck, something he’s put a great deal of significance into, for no fucking reason at all.

 

And so, Prompto makes a decision. He almost trips over his own two feet as he spins around, but he approaches anyway, and he puts on a good mask of confidence as he saunters up to Prince Noctis.

 

“Hey. That game’s more fun with two people,” Prompto says, with a flush, and he leans forward across the machine. It’s just a coincidence, really, that he’s wearing a low-cut v-neck, and that the prince’s eyes are immediately drawn to the little flash of gold, just the way Prompto’s were.

 

“… that so?” the prince says, slowly, and his eyes flicker up to Prompto’s. Their gazes meet, and _fuck,_ somehow, Prompto feels like he’s found what he’s always been looking for. “C’mon then. Let’s play.”

 

Two weeks later, Prompto’s dad is lecturing him about being careful, that’s the _Crown Prince,_ and something about _don’t you dare get me fired, Prom,_ but Noctis is rolling his eyes and laughing and tugging Prompto down the hallway, a lazy, “don’t worry, Cor, my dad doesn’t need to know,” and they’re tumbling into bed, lips finding each other, making out in a carefree way that only young, dumb teenagers can pull off.

 

 _Years_ later, when Noct’s crowned King, when he gets down on a knee and asks Prompto a really important question, the intricate little silver band perfectly fitted and everything coming together so nicely, Prompto finally asks.

 

“Noct, where’d you get that pendant?”

 

“Dunno,” Noctis admits with a quiet laugh, “I’ve just… always had it.”

 

The gods, sometimes, are kind, erasing all the harsh memories with good ones. Prompto doesn’t know that, and neither does Noct, but really, do they need to know? Some things, after all, are better left forgotten, timelines rewritten.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear, this started as "I'm gonna write top!Prompto" because I told the amazing Momo that I would! And also I had a conversation ages ago abt writing a Promptis cumshot with Prom getting it all over his glasses.... but this is also the fic I've been wanting to write for ages and it all came together into a mess. 
> 
> This one is for @notempty, too, because she understands the pendants, and she and I may or may not be the Promptis trash who have matching chocobo feather pendants. 
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading this mess, sorry it wasn't the mindless porn i was intending it to be lmao.


End file.
